Reconciliation
by PaintByGinger
Summary: Imagine a book, sitting in a dark room, on a black stained desk, with only one candle for light, the wax dripping softly, casting a calming, peaceful glow throughout the room. The nineteen years unexplained by J.K.Rowling.


It's been a while since I've written. Wow. Anyway, I was encouraged to post this by a friend of mine, so here it is. I can't make any promises when the second chapter will be up. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

(Taken from the last page of J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows. Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series belongs solely to J.K. Rowling and the genius of her writing. All characters, places, things, etc, etc, belong to her. I own nothing)

*Nineteen Years Later*

_ The last trace of steam evaporated in the autumn air. The train rounded a corner. Harry's hand was still raised in farewell._

_ "He'll be alright," murmured Ginny._

_ As Harry looked at her, he lowered his hand absentmindedly and touched the lightning scar on his forehead._

_ "I know he will."_

_ The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well._

*End Excerpt*

*Prologue*

Imagine a book, sitting in a dark room, on a black stained desk, with only one candle for light, the wax dripping softly, casting a calming, peaceful glow throughout the room. The book opens to the last page, with only the words _All Is Well_ scrawled across. Then, slowly, as if a wind enters the room, the pages start to turn on their own accord. And suddenly there is a wind, blowing through the one window in the room, the deep heliotrope curtains billowing out as the pages turn faster and faster, gaining speed. The wind sharply blows out the candle with a sharp howl. The only sounds in the room are the crisp whipping rustle of slightly yellowed pages and the low moan of the wind. Just as violently as the pages started turning, they slow to a stop. The wind dies as well, and the room is calm once more. However, there is a subtle difference to the room. The light from the candle is no longer glowing, they have been snuffed out by the wind. An eerie cast has befallen the room, an illusion of shadows creep about. The small, enclosed room now appears blue once eyes adjust. Panning closer to the book, it is exactly the opposite of what it was before the wind. A feeling of having traveled many years back graces the room, The stain desk now holds the appearance of younger wood, and the book pages are closer to a cream color, and the words seem to stand out against the page. One sentence; a simple quote, said by a boy who had grown up much too fast, had seen things no person should have to see. A boy who defeated a Dark Lord.

"_I've had enough trouble to last me a lifetime_."

This is where our story begins.

*Chapter 1*

_Nineteen Years Earlier… The Day after the Final Battle_

Day and night, Harry James Potter was haunted by ghosts. It had not been more than two days and yet the hours seemed to drag on for years. The young wizard had never imagined life would feel like this after Voldemort was gone. He had not known what to expect, but it certainly hadn't been the pain, the sorrow, the grief and the death of so many witches and wizards who had fought against the reign of terror that Voldemort lead. Wherever Harry went, he could only see those final images of each person harmed or killed through this war. _Cedric Diggory… Sirius Black… Fred Weasley… Colin Creevey… Remus Lupin… Nymphodora Tonks…_ the countless bodies that were too tortured, too mangled, too mutilated to identify. With every step, every breath, Harry was reminded of those who gave their life. With every step, every breath, a sharp pain stabbed at his chest, making the increasing heaviness harder to bear.

It angered him so. People had been out celebrating all day and night, while families who had lost someone in the Final Battle were at home, mourning. And it was his entire fault. Had Harry gotten to Voldemort sooner… had he found all the Horcruxes before… perhaps this whole war could have been prevented. Cedric's death… Sirius' death… they could have been prevented, had Harry been smarter, had Harry acted faster. With clenched fists, Harry let out a harsh grunt, burying his face in his hands. Tonks and Remus wouldn't have had to die and leave their son an orphan. The young man wiped furiously at his eyes, which had begun to tear painfully.

Since now, Harry hadn't allowed himself to cry. No, he needed to be strong for those families who were grieving. All day, the tears wanted to pour. He would like nothing more than to cry for days, like a child. But he wouldn't allow himself to do so. Not during a time like this, when others deserved to cry more than he.

"Harry?" A gentle and familiar voice. Taking a steadying breath, Harry looked up from his fists, his heart plummeting. His weary green eyes settled on the redheaded young woman who stood in front of him. The girl was barely the same person he had broken up with a year ago. She was far from the spunky, free-spirited, mischievous girl with whom he had spent all those summers at the Burrow. No, now she appeared to be a young woman far too old for her skin. She looked like someone who had grown up much too fast in a very short period of time. Her red hair was shorter than she usually wore it and tied back in a ponytail, unlike how she her hairstyle before. Deep, dark purple circles had been etched under her chocolate brown eyes, which held a heavy weariness of the world, as if she had been let down and lost hope, over and over again. Her skin was sallow and pale, much like if one spent weeks out of the sun. Even her freckles lacked their usual luster. She was thin, also; too thin. Her clothes hung loose on her body, casting an illusion that she was extremely small and fragile, though Harry knew this was far from the case.

"Harry, are you ready to leave?" The girl asked, not daring to leave her spot by the door. Part of Harry, the one that stayed awake all those nights when he was on his own with Ron and Hermione watching Ginny's name on the Marauder's Map, wished that she would walk over and take him into her arms so he could sooth her.

Silently, Harry stood and gave a curt nod, picking up his wand that lay next to him on the made four-poster bed in which he had slept for the better part of six years. Ron and Hermione had already gathered their and Harry's things from the room earlier before heading down to the Great Hall. Harry, however, had chosen to stay back and say goodbye to the room he used to call his own.

Without a word spoken between the two, Ginny Weasley lead Harry out of the dorm room, through the Gryffindor Common Room, down the hallways of Hogwarts and into the Great Hall. A heaviness hung between the two of them, the result of both itching to say meaningful things yet both too afraid to make a move.

Harry had expected the halls of Hogwarts to be bustling with noise, as the House Elves were repairing the castle, but a strange, peaceful eeriness clung to the walls. The only sounds were the clicking of Ginny's shoes on the stone floors and the shuffling of Harry's own feet, his worn and torn sneakers squeaking slightly against the ground.

The Great Hall was just as subdued. There were students and families at each table, but the usual din of the Hall was replaced with small murmured conversations, creating a small buzz of talking that seemed mellow and grim. The members of the Weasley Clan were all standing by the doors, Molly Weasley leaning tiredly against her husband Arthur, looking twenty years older. She gave Harry a weak smile and spoke with her usual kind motherly tone, one that Harry felt he didn't deserve.

"Over here, Harry dear. Thank you, Ginny, for getting him. Are you ready? Minerva's set up a Portkey to take us all back to the burrow. Best not be late, now," grief had taken its toll on Molly and she lacked her usual bustling attitude. She still fussed, but there was an emptiness about her that only came from losing one's own son.

The new Headmistress of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall, walked into the Great Hall and over to the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione.

"If you will follow me," she spoke in a clipped, hurried tone, and stress was evident on her face. The world seemed quiet as they followed McGonagall out onto the grounds and circled around a simple ring of wood. Each person grabbed on tightly, as McGonagall waved them off. "Three… Two… One…"

A sharp tugging pulled at Harry's belly button and he was suddenly spinning at a dizzying rate. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to hear above the sound of rushing wind.

"Alright, everyone… Let go…. Now!" Arthur called, and everyone did as he said, tumbling to the ground. Moans and groans could be heard as Harry untangled himself from the grassy field by the Burrow, the Weasley's home. Gazing upon it, Harry felt that this building was more his home now than Hogwarts could ever be again. After all that had happened at that castle… after all the death and turmoil… he doubted he could ever visit there again without feeling unimaginable pain.

"Harry, dear your belongings are still in Ron's room as they were before… Hermione, likewise for you in Ginny's," Molly assured, fretting over Ron, patting down his collar. Ron looked like he'd rather be anywhere but in his mother's arms, but he didn't protest or pull away.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," murmured Hermione, softly. Her bushy hair was tied back in a braid and she took Ron's hand, squeezing it. Harry watched his friends, though he felt strangely out of tune with the world. As if he was above the whole scene, watching it from a cloud.

Harry nodded his thanks at Molly and started walking out toward the forest behind the Burrow, the one that lead to a small pond. He heard her worried sigh behind him, but didn't turn back. It seemed, lately, that he wanted more time to himself than ever. His heart just couldn't take being around anyone anymore, and he felt too heavy and indifferent to get anything done. Nothing seemed to matter. All those deaths… they were because of him. That's the only thought that circled through his head.

Before he knew it, Harry had reached the pond, not remembering how he had gotten there. His arms and palms were scratched from the woods, but they didn't sting in pain. However, the blood from these cuts bothered him, and he knelt in front of the pond, stopping to wash off his hands.

He was paused, though, by his reflection. His face was long and gaunt, pale and unshaven. Dark stubble ran across his jaw, his hair uncut and scruffy. He barked a humorless laugh. He looked like a madman, nearly exactly like Sirius had back when the man escaped from twelve long years in Azkaban. A pang shot through his chest at the thought of his deceased godfather.

Once his hands were washed, Harry stood and walked over to the edge of the forest, sitting and leaning against a tree. It was still morning and the sun shone brightly, though personally Harry thought it should be dark and gloomy, hinting at rain. Instead, a blue jay flew down to the branch closest to Harry and started to sing.

"Personally, I've always loved it when birds sang to me," Harry looked up sharply to see Ginny exiting the woods, her brown eyes trained on him. He swallowed, making no sign to respond, when the youngest Weasley spotted his hands. "Here, let me get that," she walked over and knelt by his side, a lock of hair falling from its place in her ponytail. Harry's fingers itched to see if Ginny's hair was really as soft as he remembered, but they were otherwise occupied. Ginny was examining his hands, surveying the cuts and scrapes. "How did this happen?" She muttered, though it seemed more to herself than Harry. She took out her wand and held it over Harry's palms, moving it in slow circles, the skin on Harry's hands healing and cleaning, knitting back together, feeling like pins and needles.

"You're underage," Harry finally spoke, probably the first words since Voldemort's downfall, and his voice came out hoarse. Ginny gave a small laugh, though she didn't find it funny.

"I don't think that matters at the moment. Besides, I'll be seventeen in two months. I'd like to see the ministry try and stop me from using magic," she challenged harshly, a humorless smile on her face.

"Thanks," Harry muttered gruffly, looking down at his now-healed hands. The spell had left no trace of the scrapes and cuts along his palms. He spoke without thinking. "Your charm work is good."

"Mum's worried about you," Ginny blurted out bluntly, her gaze unwavering. Harry looked away, uncomfortable.

"She shouldn't be, I'm-"

"Fine, yes. But then, you could be bleeding to death on the ground and you'd still say you were fine," She didn't seem amused in the least. Harry decided that if he said anything, she'd probably have his head on a platter. The birds sang tunelessly, filling the silence. "I'm worried about you," she spoke softly, her gaze now down on her hands.

"Don't, please," Harry whispered, his voice strangled, trying to get past the lump in his throat. He was very close to breaking down now, exactly when he shouldn't. He took a shaky breath. "I'm so sorry for-for Fr-_his_ death," he muttered gruffly, wanting to reach over and take Ginny into his arms.

"It's not your fault," Ginny hissed harshly. "Don't ever think it is! Fred died the way he wanted! Fighting for what he believed in, saving a young girl! Don't ever think that you should be blamed for all of this! It's Tom's fault, not yours! You were the one that saved us all!" She grabbed Harry's face, forcing him to look her in the eyes. Her heart broke when their gazes met.

Ginny Weasley had been shocked when she first saw Harry for the first time in a year, right before the Final Battle. Harry was skinnier and more malnourished than she had ever seen him before. His face had been determined and gaunt, hair long and scruffy, unshaven. He had looked much like he did now, though now he had a defeated look upon him. Which was exactly was shocked Ginny when her eyes met Harry's.

Nothing could prepare her for the sheer horror that Harry's eyes held. They were defeated and resolved, having seen so much death and destruction. Far too much for a boy who was barely a man. He no longer looked determined, nor did he seem to have the weight of the world on his shoulders. No, now it was a different weight. A weight of all the deaths he blamed himself for.

"None of this is your fault," Ginny echoed, her grip on Harry's face weakening. He simply looked away, out over the pond.

"All those families… their loved ones… dead. Because I couldn't get to Voldemort soon enough," he whispered. His voice was strangled and he cleared his throat more than once, eyes burning.

"Do you truly believe that?" The redhead asked softly. Harry responded with a nod, still not meeting her eyes. "You're wrong," she whispered, "if you hadn't killed Riddle when you did, he'd still be terrorizing people. Not to mention you were off finding whatever it was that you needed in order to kill him. People would have still died whether you killed him when you did or five years earlier. You couldn't have stopped that, nobody could have."

It was a long, tense moment before Harry spoke again.

"I just feel so…" He trailed off, not sure how to explain his feelings. He wasn't even sure he wanted to explain his feelings. He and emotions didn't mix well together, though part of him wanted to break down and tell Ginny everything.

"It's okay to feel helpless. It's okay to grieve," Ginny reassured gently, resting a hand on top of Harry's.

Harry suddenly felt panicked, "Oh Merlin, Ginny, I… Fred…" he whispered, his throat closing. A pained look crossed Ginny's face but she didn't flinch.

"Harry, I've grieved enough. Now it's your turn. You lost Remus, the closest thing you had to family since Sirius… I don't think you even grieved for Sirius at all," she squeezed his hand and Harry closed his eyes, scrubbing his face with a hand, his breath coming hot and quick.

"I can't… there are so many… I… They deserve…" he swallowed many times, the tears pricking his eyes unwelcomingly. His nose burned uncomfortable, but there was nothing he could do. The tears started to trickle down his gaunt face, gathering at his chin, dripping down and staining the fabric of his jeans.

Ginny scooted over and wrapped her arms around Harry, which was when he truly began to cry. Heart wrenching, snotty, unattractive sobbing, the kind that left one's eyes puffy and face blotchy and red.

* * *

The sun was getting low in the sky by the time Harry's sobs quieted and he sat up. His head pounded and his eyes burned, no amount of rubbing them helping. Ginny smoothed down Harry's matted hair, not speaking until she was sure Harry wouldn't mind it.

"Thank you," Harry muttered, his voice hoarse and thick. Ginny just smiled vaguely in response, letting go of Harry.

"You needed it," she responded simply.

"Ginny… about last year…" It almost sounded like he was pleading. Harry found himself not caring, though.

"Harry, it's fine. I understand. You had to go save the world," Ginny shrugged, her facial expression carefully indifferent. Harry felt like there was more to it, though.

"No, it's not fine," he shook his head, "It wasn't fair to you. I couldn't tell you where we were going, what we were doing…" he swallowed, trying to hold nothing back. "We were searching for Horcruxes."

"Hor… what?" Harry watched as Ginny's eyebrows knit together in confusion. She finally dared to look at him and saw that he was completely serious.

"Horcruxes. Dark magic. Voldemort… he tried to make himself immortal," Harry explained carefully, not sure what to edit out. He didn't want to upset Ginny.

"How do you…?"

"You have to murder someone. I'm not sure exactly, how you… but once you murder, your soul… it splits… Horcruxes were pieces of Voldemort's soul, placed inside objects," Harry looked away, knowing there was a look of shock on Ginny's face. Shock and horror. "He had seven of them. You've already encountered one."

"The diary…" Ginny whispered. "Is that why it…?"

"Yes. The same happened with Dumbledore, last year, when he found another Horcrux. A ring. It tried to possess him. And then with me, this past winter. I was wearing a locket around my neck and it tried to possess me, to kill… Ron saved me and we destroyed it," Harry swallowed hard, wondering if it should feel this easy to tell Ginny everything. He didn't mind too much, he knew he could trust her.

"That's what you were looking for all year? Seven pieces of Riddle's soul?" Ginny asked, horrified.

"We didn't know it was seven at the time," Harry blurted out, instantly inwardly cursing himself.

"What do you mean?"

"I… when Voldemort tried to kill me the first time… part of his soul was transferred into me…" he spoke wearily, trying to gauge Ginny's reaction.

"Part of _his _soul was in you?!" Her deadly, terrified tone seemed worse to Harry than shrieking.

"Yes. That's why we had the… connection that we did. Why I was able to speak to snakes. The second time he tried to kill me… he only killed the section of his soul inside me."

"You were hit by Avada Kedavra _twice_?" She hissed. Harry winced, cringing back. She was downright scary sometimes.

"Well… yes…"

"Merlin's beard…" Ginny gasped, running a hand through her hair. She stared for a moment longer, before blinking back to focus. "What were the other Horcruxes?"

"The diary, the locket, the ring, Ravenclaw's diadem, Hufflepuff's cup, the part that was in me, and his snake, Nagini," Harry ticked off his fingers, counting seven. "They could only be killed through certain ways, though two were already taken care of and we hadn't known about the part in me."

"That's… a lot to deal with," she spoke honestly, trying to wrap her head around the new information. "Did Dumbledore…?

"Yes, he put me up to it," he answered, feeling slightly exhausted.

"I don't blame you," Ginny finally murmured, retaking Harry's hand in her own.

"For what?" Harry asked bewildered.

"For breaking up with me. You had a lot to deal with. I probably would have done the same, in your place," she admitted carefully. "I still have the Trace on me… You, Ron and Hermione were free to go and save the world. Of course, it's always been like that, hasn't it?" She couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice.

"Ginny…"

"No, don't. Besides, someone had to stick around and keep up the DA," she gave a weak smile and squeezed Harry's hand.

"I didn't want to break up with you. Most nights, when we were in hiding, I'd get out the Marauder's map and just stare at your name…" he admitted, blushing brightly, staring down at his ratty sneakers.

"You watched my name on a map?" Ginny asked, an eyebrow raised, "if I didn't think that was utterly sweet, I'd call you a stalker," she smiled fondly. Harry just shrugged, still not meeting her eyes. "This year was hell without you, Ron and Hermione. Especially with Snape as headmaster. It seemed that Riddle had taken over the castle. I dreamt about you every night. I actually wrote letters to you, but I never sent them," she confessed.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, his gaze finally lifting to see Ginny roll her eyes.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," She gave a gentle smile before standing. "Now come on. Mum's probably really worried now. The sun's starting to set. She wants to fatten you up."

Slowly, Harry stood, his muscles creaking and aching in protest. He rubbed the back of his right thigh absentmindedly, massaging the muscle. He reached out and grasped Ginny's wrist, keeping her from walking through the woods to the Burrow. "Thank you," he murmured fervently. "I… It meant a lot to me," he finished, growing embarrassed, looking away.

"Like I said, you needed it," she squeezed his hand once more, before speaking hesitantly. "I know that you need time… and I respect that. But I want to know. If, in the future… there's a possibility…." She trailed off and Harry caught on quickly.

"I think there's more than a possibility," he breathed, feeling his heart soar in his chest. Despite the hell they'd both been through, what he personally had unintentionally put her through, she still cared for him. Ginny looked up briefly from her gaze on the ground, their eyes connecting.

"That's good to know…" she mumbled faintly, feeling light headed.

Harry gave her a small ghost of a smile. It wasn't a full smile, but it was a start, and that was all Ginny truly cared about at the moment. She felt Harry lace his fingers through hers. "So, what's this about your mother's cooking?" He asked, the rumbling of his stomach filling the air.

"Wait!" Ginny scolded him harshly, acting before thinking. "I won't have you messing with me like this! I need to know! I need a straight out answer! Do you know what you put me through!? I thought you had died!" As she spoke, her shock from the past few days seemed to melt off and was replaced by a wave of new emotions, ones she hadn't known she possessed: fear, anxiety, grief, pain, heartbreak, cynicism, skepticism, and relief. Harry, on the other hand, looked dazed and disconcerted. She spoke again, her voice breaking, "when Riddle spoke and you were lying there in Hagrid's arms… That was the worst moment in my life. I thought I had lost you for good. I thought you were gone forever. And I wanted to die. It was the worst feeling in the world. At that moment… fighting didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered. I just…. I wanted to stop existing," her eyes teared up and she wiped furiously at them. "Oh, damn, I hadn't meant to start crying…" she muttered to herself.

Harry watched Ginny closely, his heart torn by her confession. "I'm so sorry," he let go of her hand and hugged her instead, holding her tightly in his arms, as if to protect her from the world. "I never meant to hurt you… I had to," he mumbled, his chest heavy.

"I know that," Ginny whimpered, taking deep breaths to regain control. "I know. If you hadn't, we'd still be at war. And I'm grateful for that, I'm so grateful." She relaxed in Harry's arms, resting her head against his chest. "I just… had to tell you. I don't want to be jerked around. I want…"

"Commitment," he supplied in understanding. "You want something solid. I couldn't promise you that before. I didn't know if I would live… there was a prophesy…"

"A prophecy?" Ginny asked, her voice dangerously low, pulling back to look Harry in the eyes.

"Er…. Can we discuss that another time?" he pleaded and was answered with a nod, but the look in her eyes told him she wouldn't let it go. With a sigh, Harry went on. "I couldn't promise you anything before, because of Voldemort. I didn't want him to get to you because of me. I cared… I care too much about you to let him do that," he corrected, "but now…" he tried to gather up his Gryffindor courage, the courage that was supposed to run through his blood, "now I don't have to worry about that, do I?" He tried to smile, but his facial muscles didn't want to work. The smile was weak, but Ginny could tell it was there.

"What are you trying to say?" Ginny asked carefully, holding her breath, though she knew the answer.

"Could we give it another go?" Harry asked hopefully, his stomach churning nervously.

"Give what another go?" Harry almost did a double take, before realizing Ginny was teasing him and that she was smirking. He mock-glared at her.

"Ginevra Molly Weasley, are you mocking me?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Ew, don't use my full name," Ginny scrunched up her nose, making a face. She let out a sigh and smiled gently at Harry. "I think I'd be delighted to go out with you again." She told him sincerely

The smile that graced Harry's face after that was positively blinding, and probably the first true smile since Dumbledore's death the year before.

Before he could stop himself, he bent down and kissed Ginny full on the lips, their heated kiss rivaling the one Ginny had given him during his seventeenth birthday. When they broke apart, Harry had to lean against a tree to compose himself.

"So, do I get to tell my family this time?" Ginny asked brightly, taking hold of Harry's hand. The look of sheer terror that crossed his face made her laugh. "You can defeat Voldemort but you can't face my brothers?"

"Your brothers don't need an unforgiveable to kill me. One of them works with dragons," Harry deadpanned nervously. Ginny just smiled in response, pecking Harry on his lips.

"Don't worry. I'll put them in line."

"I have no doubt about that," he chuckled.

Hand in hand, the young witch and wizard walked back to the Burrow, talking quietly as the summer evening buzzed around them.


End file.
